Incident
by Halcris
Summary: Please note I do not own these characters. I write only for my and others pleasuure.


**Incident.**

The day started so quietly and normally, that Cowley, head of C.I.5.

had no inkling of the trauma that was to come.

As there was nothing urgently requiring his attention, he decided to take the chance of arranging a weaponry practice session. This was a scheme of his own devising, of which he was quite proud.

All his men were marksmen, it was part of their basic training, of course, but his best team, Bodie and Doyle, were particularly good.

So Cowley had devised a plan, so that when time permitted, each of his newer men could have an hour's one-to-one session with one or other of them, partly to boost the new man's confidence, and partly to see if any of them could subconsciously pick up some of the flair that these two possessed.

Both men were very good at these sessions. Doyle was particularly patient and encouraging. Bodie could be a bit intimidating and patronizing, usually depending on the degree of success of his amatory adventures the night before, with whoever was his current girl-friend. Cowley was inclined to turn a blind eye to this side of him. He was darned good at his job, after all, and never let his off-duty activities interfere with his work.

He called down to the duty room. As it happened, Doyle answered immediately.

"Ah, Doyle," he said briskly, "I think we've time for a weaponry session. Can you organize it?"

"Certainly, sir," replied Doyle, who, on the quiet, rather enjoyed these sessions. " Who, sir?" he asked.

"Simpson, I think," replied Cowley. "What do you know of him?"

"Not a lot," replied Doyle. "I know him by sight, of course, and I've spoken to him in group briefings, I expect, but I've not had him on any job with me as yet."

"He seems sound," said Cowley, "a bit on the quiet side, but then, new men often are, till they find their feet. We'll give him a try today"

"Yes, sir. Car ready in 10 minutes", said Doyle, and got on with arranging it. He called the warehouse they used for these sessions, a large empty space, where they could try out the heavier weaponry which was too powerful for the indoor pistol-range.

Then he went looking for Simpson, and told him their orders. He was vaguely surprised that the man didn't seem all that enthusiastic. Usually the new men were pleased when their turn came up.

"What do I need to bring?" asked Simpson.

"Just your own hand-gun," answered Doyle, "Everything else is set up for us at the warehouse."

On the way down there in the car Cowley had been singing Doyle's praises to Simpson, most embarrassingly so, as Doyle was driving, and couldn't protest too much, as his attention was taken up by the heavy traffic of London. This had cleared as they reached the outskirts, and they had made reasonable time in the end.

Soon they were ready to begin. Cowley's efficient weaponry men had set up all the guns they would need, plus sufficient supplies of ammunition, and had then retired to other duties in the adjoining offices.

They started off with some of the heavy-weight long-range stuff. Doyle patiently explained each different item and demonstrated competently. Simpson had encountered some of them before and some he had not, but he was quick to learn and soon mastered those new to him. Doyle was friendly and encouraging.

Cowley stood looking on, adding his running commentary when he thought it necessary. Unfortunately, most of his remarks seemed to be about Bodie and Doyle, and how good they were at all this. Being a straightforward man, it never occurred to him that he was over-doing it. He didn't realise that over-praise of the best isn't always encouraging for those who are trying their hardest, and sometimes could give rise to petty jealousy.

"Let's finish with some hand-gun work," said Doyle amiably." I'll just set up some targets", he added, and moved further down the arena to collect them from the neat piles stacked at the side, and to set them up at different distances and angles.

It was then that, unknowingly, Cowley made the mistake he was to regret for a long time afterwards. He continued to sing Doyle's praises!

"Of course," he said cheerfully, "you know he's going to beat you hollow at this, don't you? He's so quick and accurate!"

Simpson turned away as he completed loading his hand gun, and muttered under his breath. "Teacher's pet!"

Cowley didn't hear the precise words, but he caught the attitude, and was immediately 'up in arms' .

"What did you say, Simpson?," he demanded angrily.

Something in his aggressive tone was the last straw for Simpson _ one last restraint snapped in his unsettled brain, and he launched forth into a bitter tirade.

"You and your precious Bodie and Doyle," he shouted. "Can't put a foot wrong, can they? They get all the praise, they get all the favours. The best jobs that come along, - it's always them, isn't it ? Nobody else gets a look-in, nobody else gets a chance"

There was a totally wild look in Simpson's eyes that scared Cowley. Here was mania ! The man continued wildly,

"Maybe if they weren't around, the rest of us could show what we can do !"

Before Cowley could make a move to stop him, he swung round and fired at the figure down the arena.!

Doyle's startled yell, as the first shot took him high in the shoulder, echoed round the vast space, but as two more shots quickly followed, he slumped heavily to the ground and lay still !

"Simpson !" yelled Cowley, pulling his own weapon. As the man turned round and aimed at him, he re-acted with all his instinctive training, and fired once. Simpson dropped to the ground.

Cowley stood rooted to the spot with shock at the speed events had taken. How could such a terrible thing have happened ? That one of his own highly-trained men could snap like this and attack another was beyond belief !

Men rushed in from the offices, alerted more by the shouts than the shots, which they had been hearing all afternoon.

"What happened ?", they yelled, looking round for attackers.

With a sudden shrewd instinct, Cowley knew that this must be covered up, kept secret. If word of it went any further, and got into the hands of the Press, his enemies would have a 'field day', and C.I.5 would be finished and shut down.

So he pointed to the rafters, and uttered a positive lie !

"Sniper!," he declared, "Up there !" Most of the men immediately rushed for the long companionways leading up to the top galleries.

Two had moved to the fallen figures.

"Simpson's dead," reported one immediately.

From further down, the other yelled, " Doyle's alive! Get an ambulance!"

The nearest man shot back to the office to make calls and set things in motion.

Cowley, still shaken, holstered his weapon, and hurried down the arena. His mind was working overtime! His concern for Doyle was overshadowed by his determination to do all he could to protect his valuable organization.

Doyle was unconscious and bleeding heavily from several wounds, but the man kneeling beside him looked up as Cowley approached, and spoke

re-assuringly.

"I don't think he's too bad, sir," he said. "His pulse is strong and he's breathing naturally, though he is losing a bit of blood."

The man from the office ran down to them and reported "Ambulance on its way, sir, and a back-up squad."

The men from the roof began to drift back. They had found nothing, of course, but Cowley already knew that.

"I'm afraid we lost him, sir," said one apologetically. "We heard a motor-bike rev up, and hare away, though."

Pure co-incidence, thought Cowley, but at least it adds a little credence to my story.

He pondered quietly, wondering if he needed to do anything else to cover his tracks, hating the deceit he'd forced upon himself.

The ambulance team turned up quickly, loaded the still unconscious figure onto a stretcher and departed. The back-up team dealt with Simpson's body, and the weaponry team collected and safely stowed away all the armoury, with all the efficiency Cowley expected of his well-trained men.

He himself, found his way back to the car they had come in, and severely shaken as he still felt, followed the ambulance. One thought was clear in his mind. He must be the first person to speak to Doyle when he came round, before anyone else had a chance to say "What happened?"

Doyle had a quick mind, Cowley knew. He would understand all the implications of what had occurred, and would co-operate fully, and there was no-one else who had actually seen anything, and could contradict his version of events.

A doctor had worked on Doyle to remove the bullets, but it had not been too difficult a job. He came to meet Cowley.

"He's in no danger," he reported brightly. "He was lucky! A bit of damage from the worst wound, and a fair amount of blood loss, but a while under our care and he'll be good as new."

"I need to speak to him as soon as he comes round," insisted Cowley, ready to use his special authority if necessary. But the doctor had learned who Cowley was, so he didn't argue.

"The bed in the ward's not quite ready yet," he said, "so he's in Alcove 7.

He'll come round soon, but don't stress him out; he's going to need a lot of rest"

Cowley entered the alcove and slipped into the seat beside the bed. What he could see of Doyle's body was heavily bandaged, and his face was pale. He waited patiently. At last, Doyle's head moved slightly on the pillow, and his eyes opened. In an action unusual for him, Cowley grasped the hand lying limply on the coverlet, and forced the focus of his man's attention.

"Doyle !", he said urgently "This is important ! You remember what happened ?" Doyle nodded, a puzzled look coming over his face.

"You know and I know" continued Cowley, "but no-one else must !"

"Simpson ?" queried Doyle.

"Dead," said Cowley shortly. "He turned on me too, and his eyes were mad, totally mad. I shot him. I had to !"

"The men at the warehouse ?", questioned Doyle.

"None of them saw anything," said Cowley, "and when they rushed in, I lied to them. I suggested a sniper, up in the roof, and they went looking."

"You understand why I had to do it ?", said Cowley.

"Yes," replied Doyle, ever quick on the uptake. "If the Press got wind of something like this, Mackay and his cronies would have a 'field day '."

"Aye," agreed Cowley, "They would raise such a stink that we could get shut down in no time flat"

"I'll go along with your story, of course," said Doyle, "You know I will, but just one question, sir. Why did he do it ?"

"Jealousy, Doyle," replied Cowley. "Insane jealousy of you and Bodie. My fault, maybe, I do tend to sing your praises a bit much. But how on earth did a man with such feelings get through the psychological profiles you all have to pass ? I don't understand that ."

At this point the doctor stuck his head through the curtain.

"They'll be coming to take you up to the ward in a moment," he said to Doyle, "and then you must go, sir, he needs his rest"

He withdrew, and Cowley turned back to his man.

"You're clear, now ?" he said. "Not a word to anyone !"

"Bodie ?" queried Doyle.

"Especially not Bodie !" insisted Cowley. "You know how worked up he gets if you get hurt. We can't trust him not to be so furious that he lets something slip accidentally. I'll tell him when the time's right _ but you are to say nothing ! Understood ?"

Reluctantly, Doyle agreed. "I'll keep quiet, sir," he promised.

For a while after that, things moved to Cowley's satisfaction. His story seemed to have been accepted quite readily. Simpson, who appeared to have no close relatives, was given a simple funeral, with the usual honours paid to a man killed on duty.

Doyle made good progress. He had several visits from Bodie, and had had to listen to his accounts of the exhaustive efforts he'd made to find the elusive motor-bike, which had involved leaning rather heavily on several innocent bikers, much to their indignation.

But, of course, it had all been to no avail!, as Doyle well knew, but couldn't say, because he'd given his word to Cowley not to do so. He found lying to Bodie, or rather with-holding the truth, very difficult.

Soon he was back on light duties at Headquarters, catching up on paper-work, and searching through records. This was a useful exercise, as his memory of light-weight villains from his police days, often high-lighted potential trouble-spots now.

But after a few days, Murphy, one of Cowley's best men on the administration side, began to notice something odd. He kept careful but unobtrusive observation. If he had but known, what he was seeing was the result of a very uncomfortable conversation that had taken place days earlier, between Bodie and Doyle.

Bodie had had the casual job of dropping off at the hospital, one of their men who had cut his hand rather badly. While he was there, he had encountered the doctor who had treated Doyle. They knew each other slightly, for they had met a couple of times at Doyle's bedside.

"Ah, Mr. Bodie," he said. "I've something for you." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a small tissue-wrapped packet. "These are the slugs I dug out of your friend. I forgot I kept them. He might like them as a souvenir."

Bodie slipped the packet into his pocket, and walked back to his car with a faint smile on his face. Would Ray want them? He doubted it. Before he started the engine, he took the packet out and looked into it. A very puzzled frown came over his face. He drove back to head-quarters in a very thoughtful mood, and, as soon as he could get him alone, cornered Doyle in one of the smaller offices. He quickly pushed the back of a chair under the door-handle, so that they wouldn't be interrupted, and turned to his friend.

"What's going on ?" he demanded angrily.

"What are you on about ?", said Doyle, somewhat bemused .

"These !," said Bodie , and thrust his hand almost under Doyle's nose.

" Slugs ?", queried Doyle . " So what ?"

"Slugs that Dr. Fenton took out of you last week," said Bodie grimly.

"Oh !", said Doyle in a subdued voice, trying to think of a way out of this.

"Oh, indeed !", said Bodie , rage in his voice. "These are not rifle bullets.

These are from a hand gun !"

Doyle sat down quickly, trying to collect his thoughts.

"Well ?", demanded Bodie "I want the truth. Who shot you ?"

Doyle shook his head, he couldn't answer his friend.

"You do know, don't you ?", said Bodie furiously.

Stung, Doyle snapped. "Course I know! I was there, wasn't I ?", and then wished that he hadn't let that slip out.

Bodie suddenly went very still and quiet. " Cowley knows, doesn't he ?", he said. "You and he have something secret you're not telling me."

Doyle made no response, except to avoid eye-contact.

"Right," Bodie snarled. "Now I know where I stand !".

Furiously he threw the chair away from the door and stormed out.

Doyle sat where he was, - he felt physically sick. He'd seen Bodie's rages before but up till now he'd never been on the receiving end. He couldn't think what was best to do. Go to Cowley ? No, that would be grassing like some petty sneak-thief. Besides, Bodie's lack of control of his temper had threatened his career more than once. _Cowley might fire him!_ Best play a waiting game, to see if he calmed down.

And the consequences of this exchange were what Murphy was seeing, and he didn't much like it. Unhappy, he stood it for a day and a half, then made up his mind, and went to Cowley. He knocked, and entered the office.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, "could you spare me a minute ?"

"Of course," said Cowley instantly, putting down his pen. "Sit down."

He liked Murphy. He was steady and reliable, and he was very useful to him, for as well as his excellent administration work, he was his 'eyes and ears'. Without actively spying, he was his liaison between him and his men, and quietly took in what was going on. And, right now, he looked decidedly uneasy.

"Well," he said encouragingly, "What's bothering you ? Tell me, man, I'm listening."

Murphy took a deep breath, and launched into his story.

"It's Bodie and Doyle," he said. "They've fallen out." Cowley was instantly alert.

"They are avoiding each other," continued Murphy, "and hardly speaking. You know how there used to be such banter between them,- they cheerfully threw insults at each other, quite rude ones sometimes, but it didn't seem to matter

Now they don't even sit together in the canteen. Bodie sits with others, and he makes remarks, some remarkably snide, and Doyle doesn't fight back !

In short, Bodie looks furious, and Doyle looks miserable. I can't see them working together like they used to !", he finished unhappily.

Cowley's thoughts were racing.

"You don't know what it's about, do you?." he asked.

"No, and they're not telling," replied Murphy. "Do you know ?."

" I think I do," answered Cowley, thoughtfully. " I'm glad you brought it to my attention , Murphy. I think I can sort it out."

Murphy looked relieved.

"Do one more thing for me," said Cowley. "Out of Doyle's hearing, find Bodie and send him up to me"

Murphy hurried out, very glad to have passed the problem on. As soon as he could, he followed his orders, got Bodie on his own, and told him to report to Cowley. Bodie scowled blackly at him, but obeyed the command.

A little later there was a knock on Cowley's door.

"Come in", he called, and Bodie did, looking as black as thunder.

"Sit", ordered Cowley, leaning back in his chair, and regarding his man thoughtfully. Bodie sat scowling, not meeting his eyes, and said nothing.

"Well," said Cowley at last "What's this all about?"

Bodie reached into his pocket, and deposited the small package in front of Cowley, who inspected it, and smiled gently in understanding.

"Well ?", he prompted.

All the pent-up feelings came out of Bodie in a rush.

"Those are the slugs that Dr. Fenton took out of Ray," he said, "but they're not rifle bullets! Something's been going on that I don't know about !"

"Quite true," said Cowley mildly, "and if you'll calm down and listen, I'll tell you now."

And he did. Holding nothing back, he told him exactly what had happened, the surprising incident, his own lies and cover-up, and the reasons for that, and also that he'd sworn Doyle to secrecy.

His anger dissipated, Bodie sat for along time, with his head in his hands, thinking it all through. Cowley sat patiently, just watching him, knowing his man very well.

At last Bodie straightened up, and looked at his chief. His expression was solemn, and a little sad.

"Don't you trust me ?," he said simply.

"Of course we do !", said Cowley, quickly leaning forward.. " What I couldn't trust was that temper of yours. Look how mad you've been over the last couple of days ! If you'd been like that when it first happened, something would surely have slipped out, and I couldn't risk that."

Bodie thought about it. "You know ", he said at last "You're probably right, - I might have blown it".

Another thought crossed his mind. "Poor Ray," he said. "I've given him hell, haven't I ?"

" That was my fault," admitted Cowley. "I wouldn't let him tell you, and I know he found that hard, but he stuck with it, didn't he ?"

"What can I do about it now ?," asked Bodie, "He must hate me !"

"He doesn't," said Cowley firmly. "You know that very well.! Here's my suggestion. Take him somewhere private, your place maybe, and really talk it out. Tell him – my orders"

Bodie left Cowley's office with a spring in his step. Anyone who knew him would have recognised the determined glint in his eye, and would have known it presaged action.

Waiting his moment, he finally caught Doyle alone in the rest room As he stepped towards him, Doyle turned away, saying,

" Leave me alone, Bodie."

With a swift movement, Bodie grabbed his mate's wrist, swung him round, and had him pinned against the wall, both wrists held at head height, with his own extra weight holding him securely.

If it had been anyone else, Doyle would have re-acted instantly with one of the vicious counter-moves his training had equipped him with, but as it was Bodie, he submitted, and looked him squarely in the eye.

"You're taking advantage," he accused.

Bodie's eyes gleamed. "Blatantly", he agreed.

Suddenly, Doyle knew. " Cowley's told you," he said.

"Yes ," said Bodie and released his grasp. Doyle stood, gently rubbing his wrists.

"What now ?," he asked.

" We go somewhere private and talk, - Cowley's orders." replied Bodie. "Come on, I'll treat you to lunch at my place ."

"What's your idea of lunch ?," asked Doyle, " Beefburgers and chips?"

"No, you health-food freak," retorted Bodie, "I've got ham and a very nice salad in the 'fridge. And chips," he added mischievously, and was rewarded with the smile he'd been missing for some time.

From his window, Cowley watched them go out to Bodie's car. He gazed after them speculatively. Then with a little grin to himself, he turned back to his desk, and got on with his current problems.

They entered Bodie's flat together. Bodie all but pushed Doyle into a comfortable armchair, then moved towards the kitchen.

"I'll get us a beer," he said, quite back to his usual jaunty manner.

Doyle leaned back in his chair. The relief that the nightmare was over was almost physical. He relaxed and let his eyes close.

Suddenly, Bodie was there, crouched beside him, his strong arms along those of the chair, virtually imprisoning him again.

"If I grovel really hard," he said, "Will you forgive me ?". His eyes were twinkling, but the expression on his face was so comical, that it provoked a laugh from his friend.

" Idiot," replied Doyle, cuffing him amiably. Bodie got up, passed him a beer, and then sat down opposite him.

"But really, mate," continued Bodie, "I have been an absolute swine to you these last couple of days, and I'm truly sorry." He looked thoughtful. "I suppose it was because I felt neither you nor Cowley trusted me. That hurt, so I was lashing out ."

"It was very difficult," said Doyle. "I hated lying to you, but Cowley had my word"

"I know," said Bodie. "He explained it all very clearly to me, and I can see now that his judgement was pretty accurate. I wouldn't have handled it well then."

They continued to talk amiably over lunch. True to his promise, Bodie had produced an acceptable salad meal - and no chips !

" Of course, what really set me off was those slugs the doctor gave me. I knew they weren't from a rifle, so something was false. Then there was that non-existent escape motor-bike we spent hours looking for ! And I had another thought, too"

"What was that ?", asked Doyle, sipping his coffee contentedly.

"Well," explained Bodie, " I realised that if there had been a sniper in the rafters, he would never have got three shots into you and a fatal one into Simpson. After the first shot, you would all have moved too fast - basic training stuff. So it was all a pack of lies, and I didn't understand why. You and Cowley knew the truth, obviously. Then when you wouldn't tell me, I just got mad."

" What I don't understand," said Doyle, " is what possessed the man to behave like that. Cowley said he looked absolutely demented - quite mad. How could he have got past the psych. tests ?"

"I suppose it didn't show up till later," suggested Bodie. " Cowley said he was ranting on about being jealous of us. I don't get that, do you ? And how did he think getting rid of you would help anything ?"

"I don't think we'll ever know what was in his mind," said Doyle.

" However it's all sorted now, isn't it ?" He raised a grin when Bodie nodded agreement, and their hands met in an instinctive 'high-five'.

Murphy saw them come back, and mount the stairs together towards Cowley's office. Bodie's arm was lightly across Doyle's shoulder, and they were talking animatedly. As Doyle's infectious chuckle echoed down the stairwell, Murphy smiled to himself.

He didn't know what the problem had been, and he knew that in spite of his position of respect with Cowley, they might never tell him, but one thing he did know.

That wily old fox upstairs had done as he had promised, and that special pair, Bodie and Doyle, were back on an even keel again.


End file.
